Conception
by madsthenerdygirl
Summary: Creating a new life is a long, messy, complicated process… but it just might be worth it.


**Title: Conception**

**Rating: I couldn't make up my mind – R or NC17?**

**Summary: Creating a new life is a long, messy, complicated process… but it just might be worth it.**

**Disclaimer: I am but a humble worshipper at the altar of Andrew Marlowe and a faithful member of the church of Joss Whedon. Consider these my art for the temple.**

**Dedication: To purplangel, for whom I can refuse nothing.**

Figures that some folks would want to live in the past. Everyone's obsessed with what they've done or haven't done – given the chance to start over, who wouldn't?

He never would've guessed that there'd be a planet outside of Alliance control, but then, he's a bitter man who tends to view the world in terms of black and various shades of grey.

It's hard, saying goodbye – but then again, it isn't. He's already said goodbye to those who went on before him, and those who are left are better off without him. Settling down, living normal, safe lives of anonymity… that's what they need.

He has no idea what to do when he first touches down. The only way to get here is to be born planetside or smuggled in. Can't have the residents learning that the planet they think they're living on was destroyed by war and pollution a few hundred years ago. He drifts, unsure, floating, no need or want or drive within him. His rage and anger and pain have all settled down into something hard in his stomach, and his sadness is so deep that he can barely feel it anymore. It's like a limb, an extension of himself; there, constantly attached, but so natural that you don't even notice it.

This New Earth, as the few people in the know call it, is in the beginning of the 21st Century, timeline-wise. He hears the news about the wars and all, and wonders if humans are gorram stupid enough to make the same mistake twice.

Ah, who's he kidding. They're human.

He does his best to recall everything he can about Earth-That-Was, applying his history lessons to his current situation, using the past to live in the present. Still, he has no sense of purpose. He drifts from job to job, never wondering what'll happen next. Never caring where his next step will take him.

That all changes when he meets Martha Rodgers.

He's working as a stagehand in one of her shows. She's the best of the cast, although she's a little overwhelming in real life. She has a thing for finding the lonely people, the broken birds, and swooping in to take them under her wing – whether they want her to or not. She latches onto him and for some reason, the relationship works. A part of her seems to sense the scars that lurk beneath the surface of his skin, and although she never asks she seems to know so much about his character; how he thinks, how he acts. She's also the first person to stand up to him since coming to New Earth. At one point, she even slaps him.

The greatest gift that she gives him, though, his writing.

"You have a rough poetry to your speech, Mal." She tells him. "Like a romantic cowboy."

If only she knew.

She insists that he write down some of his amusing anecdotes, like the mustache prank Tracey pulled or the time River washed everybody's hair with soup. He has to change a few details to keep his cover, but it's worth it. The words seem to spring out of him, a deep, gushing geyser that he wasn't even aware he had, and he finds that writing is the easiest thing to come to him since he learned how to fire a gun. His first attempts at original stories are nothing short of _h__úshuō_, of course, but what of it? At least he wants to do something again. At least he's not drifting.

Martha eventually asks him to live with her, insisting that he needs a place to stay that isn't known for gang violence. It takes a few glasses of wine for her to admit that she's come to think of him as a son. She'll never replace his mother, not ever, but she's like a favorite aunt. If he really belonged to this world, she probably _would_ be his mother.

It's when he hatches The Plan that he realizes he's starting to change.

Memory modifying is probably the single most dangerous thing you can attempt to do to the human mind. He still kind of hates himself for it (hence the continuing to let Martha live in his loft) but he goes to a man who knows a man who puts him in touch with the person who knows more about insanity, and manipulating people, then anyone else he knows.

River shows up two days later, looking exactly the same as he remembered. It's been a few years so she looks slightly older, but the look in her eyes has not changed. Shifted, maybe, but not changed entirely.

She locks herself into a room with Martha and neither one comes out for over two hours. He's starting to lose patience; worrying about leaving a borderline schizophrenic alone with the only friend he's got on this planet, when River emerges. She nods, once, and he knows that it's all taken care of.

"There are holes." She warns him, her voice that unnerving mixture of anciently worldly and singsong innocence. "You'll have to plug the gaps. Some things cannot be changed. Don't dig too deep or the oil will gush, blacken the land and choke the people."

He says he understands. River surprises him but launching herself forward, hugging him tightly. He hugs her back, realizing that he's missed his little albatross.

"You'll need me." She states. "And I'll be there."

It's not until after she's gone that he worries just what he'll need her for.

::::::::::::::::::::

One of the holes, apparently, is the identity of his father. He has not father, not here, and the one before didn't take up much of his time. He pretends to be slightly distraught over it, but really doesn't care. Martha's enough of a handful without adding another parental figure into the mix.

They work well together. River incorporated a lot of his true childhood memories into Martha's fake ones, weaving together an intricate tapestry of a life not lived. It's easy for him to join her in reminiscing. He only feels slightly guilty, but that wanes over time. Martha's not a mother in the conventional sense of the term, but they do have fun together, as she says, and she's all that he needs when it comes to the matters of the heart.

Meredith was a massive gorram mistake. Honest to God, he thinks of her red hair and wonders if she's related to a certain buxom bitch who managed to screw him over several times before dying in a heist gone wrong. Meredith certainly shares some of Saffron's catty, shallower qualities, although she lacks the other redhead's audacity, daring and strategy skills. It was meant to be a one-night-stand but it spiraled into something more, and when he heard she was pregnant…

They tried. God knows, he and Inara tried. She wanted children, if only for a short bit, but it wasn't in the cards. She practically took over raising River, though, which he knows she genuinely enjoyed. She loved that crazy girl. He knew he wanted kids, but he doesn't realize just how much until Meredith breaks the news and a piece of his heart immediately detaches, sailing away and lodging in this tiny creature not even fully alive yet.

Meredith never knows why he insists on the name Alexis. He can't tell her it's his mother's name, because Meredith and Martha know – and fervently dislike – each other. His real mother was one of the strongest females he knew, and he can thank her for the healthy admiration he's felt for Zoe and the others. If women weren't so damned busy trying to one-up each other, they'd take over the 'verse 'fore men could put their pants on.

He can't even begin to explain why he gives their girl the middle name he does.

Fortunately, Meredith seems to want little to do with the new addition to the family, so he can raise his precious girl with little interruption. She fascinates him. He had no idea that staring at a sleeping baby was such a worthwhile way to spend four hours.

He doubles his writing efforts, filled with that stubbornness that would drive Inara to throw her hands up in frustration, determined that his little treasure will never know any of the pain that he's gone through. He can't promise her a life free from heartbreak or challenges or failures (although he can try very, very hard) but he can promise her one free from any physical wants. He can, and will, spare her everything unpleasant that he possibly can.

Meredith walks out on him when Alexis in just over two years old. He suspects that Meredith waited until Alexis stopped nursing so that she could waltz away free of all responsibility. She claims that he never shares anything about himself, never lets her in, and this is true. He might fight for her, despite knowing that there are some things he can never share and there are reasons for his silence and deflections, but he doesn't love her. He's had love, been through the grinding mill of it, felt the immense joys and marrow-deep sorrows, and this is not it. So he lets her go, and pours every ounce of affection left in him upon Alexis.

Gina was a mistake, but it was an honest one.

He's always been hovering on the edge of depression, melancholy being a near-constant state of mind. The one woman who could chase it away is gone, leaving him worse off that before, and when he's trying to promote a flashy, bad-boy image it's not too difficult to become what he at first only pretends. Gina saves him. He has no self-awareness, wallowing in this unconventional Prozac to the pain, and Gina's the one who slaps him awake. She schedules meetings that turn out to really be lunches or play-dates with Alexis. She walks into clubs and drags him out of them, shoves him into a taxi, and takes him home. She is a fierce, no-nonsense, tough-love doctor and she's going to cure him even if it kills them both. He realizes that she genuinely cares and is truly trying to help, and figures he could use her as a life partner. She'll help keep him in line.

The marriage fails, but they remain friends, and he carries the lessons she's beaten into him (not literally) for life. She whipped him into shape and he struggles to maintain that form, still playing the cad but tempering it, refining it, and making sure it never interferes with his writing, his sales, or his family again. He hardens his heart, hides it away with his memories (the real ones, not the smoke-and-mirror ones), and plays the game.

He begins to suspect River's influence when he meets people who claim, with utter conviction and no ulterior motive, that they know him – from college, from early writing days, from childhood. He doesn't know how she does it or even why, but she shields his identity in a thousand tiny ways, and he feels his debt to her grow.

He's not happy, but he's not unhappy, either. He has his moments, times where he swings from one end to the other like a slow-moving pendulum clock. Alexis makes him happy. Martha makes him happy. Genuine fans (not the crazy ones) give him a moment of pleasure as they explain how his books help them escape or relax from their daily lives. But there are also nights where scotch is his sleeping pill and all he can see in the darkness of his bedroom are the shadows of those before, those that slipped away too soon. They left him behind in body but not in spirit, and he fears for how he has failed them.

It's a half-life, but he makes of it what he can. For better or for worse (usually for worse) he's the survivor, and he supposes there's not much more that anyone can expect of him.

Then he meets one Detective Kate Houghton Beckett of the NYPD.

She's fierce, and hard, and strong, neither giving nor taking quarter in anything that she does. She's as stubborn as he is, about twice as determined, and carries slightly fewer scars than he does.

It takes a while for his heart to warm up again after being frozen for so many years but when it does, it's hotter than a branding iron. It's not the same as Inara… it's different, but no less potent or painful. He marvels at the differences and similarities between the two women, and figures they'd probably like each other if their paths had ever crossed.

He's determined to do things the right way this time. He holds back as much as he can, tries not to repeat past mistakes, and above all determines that this time, he won't lose her. He's especially paranoid about disease and illness but he'll protect Kate from anything. If that means murder or his death, so be it. He's sunk to greater lows.

The dangers of this New Earth, and those a cop must face, are different but no less deadly than the ones onboard _Serenity_. He does his best to look out for his partner, although it's hard to do so while playing the playboy civilian turned amateur detective. He nearly slips up when he shows her his considerable shooting skills, but he manages to play it off. Kate Beckett is a detective for a reason; she observes, she notices, and she deduces. He has to be very careful about things.

Again, there are little things that help him – contacts and friends springing up out of nowhere, people suddenly owing him favors, and nuggets of wisdom from his daughter that match their current case a little too perfectly. It's not until he realizes that he has never actually met Paige in the flesh that he understands just how River's getting such nuggets into his daughter's head. He still doesn't know how River manages any of the other things. Still, it helps to alleviate Kate's suspicions, and it helps them to solve cases, more often than not.

For all of his experiences and mentally beating himself to death, he lacks the ability to realize when he's in too deep. Zoe was good for that – kept him in check the way Gina did. Not that he'd ever make the mistake of marrying Zoe. Aside from the lack of attraction, he's pretty sure they'd have shot each other before a month was up.

When Kate is shot, he realizes that he's dug himself so deep he can't see the light of day when he looks up. He blurts it out, a literal graveside confession, even stooping to pray to God in his desperation not to lose the person he loves most in this world. Not again.

Kate survives, but the next year or so is a living hell. No contact, then a sort-of apology, and then betrayal and he sinks back into being a gorram cad again. Not his finest hour, as Inara would say. He tries to imagine her voice as little as possible, because it only serves to twist the ever-present knife in his ribs.

After their final fight, he realizes that it's too much. He's gone too far and needs to pull out before the whole thing blows up in his face. Treat it like a job gone south; cut and run.

Martha will be all right. She either suspects or knows more than he knew, and she approaches him that night of her own accord.

"I always knew this day would come." She informs him, sounding older and more tired than he's ever heard her. "When you met Beckett I hoped… well, no use crying over spilled milk. We had fun, kiddo. Didn't we?"

He hugs her. "Yeah. We did."

Alexis is another matter. He sits her down and tells her everything. Martha will never need to know the full story, and probably doesn't want to, but Alexis has a right.

"I was going to tell you when you turned eighteen, but… I was caught up." His excuse is one of the lamest he's ever given, and he's given Simon some pretty damn lame excuses.

"With Kate." Alexis has never beat around the bush. She's braver than he is, that way.

He can't lie to her, not after all of this. "Yes." He nods. "With Kate."

Alexis listens in silence, not judging, not admonishing. She asks a few questions but is polite and refrained throughout the entire thing. She admits that it's hard to process and she'll need time, and he reminds her that his love for her was never a fabrication.

"I know." She tells him. "I've never doubted that, or us."

Still, when she develops a rebellious streak and they spend the next year arguing over everything, he knows he's hurt her. He's going to be paying for that deception for the rest of his life, even long after Alexis has forgiven him, because that's the kind of person he is. A regular martyr, he is – a sucker for punishment and a glutton for pain.

He plans to leave that night. There isn't much he wants to take with him. His financials – everything from the Old Haunt to his loft – are already set up should anything happen to him, including but not limited to his sudden disappearance. He has no idea where he'll go or what he'll do, but he'll survive. That's all he needs.

He's just finished deleting his file on Beckett (certain information contained therein having mysteriously shown up in his inbox) when he hears someone at the door. He briefly wonders if River knows what he's planning and is showing up to help clean up whatever mess he'll leave behind, unraveling all the strings and knots she's tied to help solidify is existence here.

But when he opens the door, he can only stare because it's the one living person he never expected to be there, after everything.

It's Kate.

The actions of that night, the words whispered, the apologies and promises made, the wounds mended far faster than he'd have dreamed possible… it is all ingrained in his memory, as deep as every one of his memories from his former life, and he knows that now, and only now, has he truly become Richard Castle. He's shedding it all, casting away the vestiges of Malcolm Reynolds, and all for her. He is Richard Castle because of Kate Beckett. He's not pretending anymore. This is as real as she is.

Later on, lying in bed with her curled into his side, he can see the ghosts again, picture them more clearly than he has in years. Inara, Shepherd Book, Wash, Zoe, Jayne… but the difference is that this time, they're smiling at him.

::::::::::::::::::::::

Just because you've declared your undying love and gone at it like gorram rabbits doesn't mean that a relationship is easy. But they're making it work, despite the bumps and sudden turns and occasional backtracking. He's wondering exactly how to approach the subject of the man he used to be when an albatross blows into town on a foul wind.

She shows up in the loft, failing to set off any of the burglar alarms (he's not even sure she used the front door), her hair hanging untamed about her face, deadly weapons at her hips but sporting a casual summer dress with some kind of oriental pattern. Her boots are still too big for her feet.

To her credit, Kate doesn't scream or reach for her gun. Her eyes narrow almost imperceptivity as she analyzes this strange creature in their living room.

"Hello, Mal." River says, smiling. There always has, and always will be, something creepy about River's smiles but he knows she's genuinely happy to see him. He's pretty glad to see her, too.

"Hey there, little albatross." They hug, and it's not until they pull apart that he sees just how old she's gotten. There is still something girlish about her, and always will be, but he realizes for the first time that River Tam is now officially a woman, and has been for quite a few years. It startles him to realize that only seven or so years separate his kind-of daughter from his girlfriend in age.

"Castle?" Kate approaches slowly, arms folded. She's not angry, and not suspicious of him in a jealous girlfriend kind of way, but she's wary. "Who is this?"

"I'm River Tam." River beams at the detective.

"That clears up nothing." Kate replies bluntly. She eyes the weapons on River's hips. "What kind of gun is that?"

River starts to explain enthusiastically, and Kate gives him that raised-eyebrow look that means, like Lucy, he's got some 'splaining to do.

It takes a couple of hours, but he gets the whole story out. River is equal parts helpful and unhelpful, giving anecdotes about states of mind and explaining her part in helping him to create this new life. Kate takes it all in, her face unreadable. He can't even begin to guess at her thoughts, and it scares him. If she leaves, he will die. Maybe not physically, but emotionally, he'll be gone. She pulled him out of the darkness and without her to light the way he will be lost once again.

"I…" Kate speaks slowly, her mouth forming the words with expressive care and precision. "I always knew there were things; your dad, for example. But I never guessed…"

"If you'd guessed, they'd get rid of you." River informs her. He doesn't want to think about who 'they' might be.

"Alexis knows, and Martha guesses." He explains. He sees things clicking into place behind her eyes – his unconventional relationship with his mother, his relationship with his daughter taking a rocky turn since last May – and he knows that her beautiful, brilliant detective brain will sort all the pieces out in a matter of seconds.

"Why are you here?" She finally asks.

River fingers the curved blade hanging from her belt. "I have a mission." She says. "Certain people need to be eliminated to complete that mission."

He thinks about what her mission might be, and a chill settles into his bones.

"There's a man here – he thought he could flee his responsibility." River continues. "I will be having a meeting with him."

"Who is it?" Kate cannot overcome her curiosity.

"He is known here as Senator Bracken." River says calmly.

Kate's entire body stiffens up and he shares a look of alarm with her. The man they are trying to bring down is the man River is going to kill. He's connected to the Alliance and River somehow, he knows it, and he can only imagine the things the man has done.

"He killed your mother." River intones to Kate. "They take care of people who guess."

The color freezes in Kate's face, turning her into a statue.

"He's mine to bring to justice." She informs River.

River smiles brightly. "You will." She stands up. "Kaylee misses you." She tells him. "She knows that I know where you are, but none of the details. She told me to ask you to visit. She's starting to forget what your voice sounds like."

Kate frowns. "Kaylee… she's the mechanic, the one who's like a younger sister?"

He nods assent.

"You'll bring her when you visit." River says firmly, and he knows that he has no choice in the matter. "I'll let you know when it's time."

She walks out of the room, her back ramrod straight, making no sound. Kate sits for a heartbeat before tearing after her, stopping in shock as she looks around and sees that River has vanished as if into thin air. She slowly turns back to him, her face an artistic mess of conflicting emotions and scattered thoughts.

"If you've got questions, I've got answers." He assures her.

She doesn't think of any until they're lying in bed, after a silent, contemplative day.

"I'm sorry about your family." They were his family, every one of them (even Jayne, God help him).

"They're all in a better place now. Even River. Don't get me wrong, she's got loads of bats in the belfry but she's under control. She makes it work for her."

"Inara…" Kate stumbles a little over the name. "She…"

He sits up, stares down at the woman stretched out alongside him. "I loved her. Still do, in a way, but loving someone who's dead is different. You only have memories to rely on, and those things are always clouded and biased. I ain't gonna say I loved her less than you – you're equal in my mind – but I loved her differently."

He must really be desperate if he's saying the word _ain't_ for the first time in twenty years. He trails his fingers along her arm, wishing she could feel his emotion through his touch. "Believe me, Kate; I am who you always thought me to be. Malcolm Reynolds is dead and gone. I buried him myself, killed him and locked him away. Mal loved Inara, but I love you. I don't expect you to understand but I do. You're everything, Kate. You always will be."

She sits up and kisses him, her hands trembling but gripping him tightly. He feels a tear that is not his own splash onto his cheek, and when she pulls away her eyes are large and wet.

"The Kate that had a mother is dead." She whispers. "She's gone, lying dead in the ground with her mother. It took me a while but I made a new Kate. I… I know it's not the same but it's similar. I don't… I trust you, Castle. I love you. This is a lot to adjust to, and I'm not saying that I'm not in shock, but those two facts aren't going to change. Her voice breaks and she swallows a sob. He pulls her in, holds her, and she silently shakes.

"I love you." She whispers. "I love every piece of who you are today. You loved me… you cared for me, protected me, helped me no matter what I did, no matter what you found out about me, and I… I can't not return the favor."

He holds her even tighter and feels tears prick his own eyes like burning needles. He can't be entirely certain how they end up with her straddling his lap as he's buried deep inside her, but they're both crying a little and he clings to her like his world will end because if he loosens his hold she'll slip away. She comes with a sharp gasp and he with a broken sob, causing her to take his chin in her hand and tilt his face upwards, slowly kissing every inch of his face as he runs his hands over her slightly arched back. They sink into the bed, cocooning themselves in the sheets. She drifts in and out but doesn't ever sink into a proper sleep, running her lips over his skin and occasionally shifting so that she's further ensconced in his arms. He doesn't get any sleep that night, holding her and stroking her hair and skin, feeling her body against him and praying like he hasn't prayed in years that he won't lose the love of his life a second time.

::::::::::::::::::::

Only River Tam could make such a horrendous murder into something terribly beautiful. The unbelievable horror of the killing is broadcast on every news channel for weeks as people wonder how, why, and who. He wonders if there was a dialogue, if River told him exactly who she was, or if she even had to. He trusts her, though, and so he lets her secrets lie. They've done more jobs than he can count, River becoming his right-hand man after Zoe was gone, and they've yanked each other back from the precipice of death a couple of dozen times. He's not going to investigate this one, as either Rick or Mal. He doubts that he could find anything, anyhow.

Proving that for all of her violence and insanity and other uncountable issues, River is quite possibly a better person than anyone in his crew except for Kaylee, she somehow arranges it that Detective Kate Beckett was poised to persecute the late Senator for various heinous crimes, the least of which was the death of her mother, Johanna Beckett. This by-the-book expose makes Kate a hero, and the public only complains that this awful, unbelievable murder was committed before the Senator could face a proper trial. He thinks that justice was done either way, and he suspects that Kate's more than happy to see the Senator six feet under, but these people have such faith in their justice system. He'd hate to burst their bubble.

River shows up about a week after all the commotion has died down, announcing that due to the stress of dealing with the publicity, Richard Castle and Kate Beckett will be taking an extended vacation. Kate follows his lead and doesn't ask questions.

They can't know how to get in and out of New Earth. Information is death to those who have it. River's way is simpler and has more finesse than the means employed to get him on New Earth all those years ago, but it's still a little uncomfortable.

She temporarily takes away their senses, blinding them to everything except for what she wants them to see. She enters their minds, leading them, instructing them, often leaving them with strangely blank periods where they know something happened but they can't remember what. When the mental blindfolds are lifted, they're in a sleek, miniature model of a Firefly-class transport ship with River at the controls. The name on the hull is _Miranda_.

They fly for two days. He's forgotten how much he loves this, but his nostalgia is aided by Kate's wonder, which is quickly replaced by joyful curiosity. Always looking for answers, his Kate. Given her tenacity, she usually finds them.

He's only ever seen Kaylee's home planet once, when he met her. That story made Kate laugh out loud, a far too rare thing. They touch down a few miles outside of the modest town. There are horses tied nearby, and they ride them back towards the settlement, stopping in front of a house just on the outskirts.

Two small bundles of energy come bursting out of the house, streaking towards them with joyous shouts of "River, River! River's back!" River alights from her horse and scoops them up, spinning them around as the children shriek with glee. The front door bangs open again and a much larger bundle of energy barrels into him, clutching him and shouting, "Cap'n! You're here!"

"Hey there, little Kaylee. That no-good man of yours lookin' after you?"

Kaylee beams, giving him that wide grin he's missed so much. "Simon's the regular town hero. Only doctor 'round for miles, and everybody loves him."

"Correction; they love you." Simon strides out of the house, Hoby right behind him. Zoe and Wash's girl has gotten tall, with her mother's build and her father's height. She's got Zoe's stern face but her eyes dance as only Wash's could. She's the age that River was when his crew first took in the Tams, and it makes him truly grasp how much time has passed.

They have dinner, which Kaylee and Hoby fix – Kate is not allowed to help no matter how hard she tries – and then sit on the massive porch, watching the kids run amuck. River's the worst of them, more of a child than Derriel and Inara, even though Derriel is seven and Inara is four. Hoby is more reserved, but she eventually lets go completely and joins in with a whoop.

"She still goes by Hoby?" He asks Simon.

"Well, it's a little embarrassing, to be a girl named Hoban." Simon replies.

It took them a while, but they're friends now. Simon is as much his crew as Kaylee, and he almost envies the boy the ability to build a new life without having to recreate himself.

"There've been worse names." Kaylee puts in.

"Like Kaylee." He jokes. Kaylee smacks him on the arm and Kate laughs.

"Speaking of names, what will you name yours?" Kate asks.

"If it's a boy, he'll be Simon. If it's a girl, we'll name her Serenity." Kaylee smiles. "That ship was our home for years, and it's a right pretty name."

"Kaylee's got her hopes set on another girl." Simon chuckles. "But I'd like to even the score. I'm already outnumbered."

"I know how that feels." He informs the doctor, and the two women give them warning looks.

They stay for two weeks, and although he loves every second of it, treasures it in his heart, he's not sad to say goodbye. They might or might not be back – that depends upon River – but he's not Mal anymore. The children can't tell, not even Hoby, who was only a young girl when he left, but Simon and Kaylee are far from blind. They were Mal's family, and nobody knows Mal better.

On the evening they're to leave, he hears Kaylee and Kate talking in low voices out on the porch. They've become fast friends, and they could be discussing anything, but he knows it's about him. He holds himself back, waiting until he sees them hug before stepping out to join them.

He actually hugs Simon, which is a first, although it barely lasts a second. He hugs the children and Hoby, and holds Kaylee when she breaks down crying. Always emotional, his sweet little Kaylee.

Their goodbye to River is later, when they're back at the loft. The women hug and Kate looks at River with something akin to affection. He hugs River as well, and then he blinks and she's gone.

He doesn't know that he'll ever seen them, any of them, again, and he's not all that surprised to find that he's all right with that. Visiting what was left of his crew, and the generation that follows them, was almost like stepping into another man's life. It's not his life anymore. It's not who he is anymore. This is where he belongs, in the new New York City, on a New Earth, with his new family – once again, not one that he was given, but one that he made. And he knows that no matter what else happens, he belongs with this woman, one Kate Beckett, as singular and strong as Inara but as different and unique as the love he has for her. He's Richard Castle, mystery writer.

And he doesn't want to jinx it, but he just might be happy.

**Oh God. I did it. I did a Firefly/Castle crossover. Allay my fears of utter failure by reviewing, would you?**


End file.
